Mets Card of the Week: Jersey of the damned

THE JERSEY OF THE DAMNED

Previously on Card of the Week, we established that my eight-year old son Sebastian is not much of a baseball fan.

But there we were staring Halloween night in the face without a defined costume.

I kept spitting out suggestions, which were shot down like clay pigeons.

“Mario?”

“No.”

“Zombie?”

“Nah.”

“Ninja?”

“Uh-uh.”

Finally, I hit on something. “I got it: baseball player! You can wear that Mets’ jersey we got at Marshall’s a couple of years ago. You can bring a glove, and I can give you one of my hats.”

This idea passed muster, and we pulled all the elements together quickly after dinner. This would work.

Sebastian had one concern, though.

“I don’t think any Mets’ players wear glasses.” He had just picked up his first pair a week earlier, courtesy of an astigmatism inherited from yours truly.

I explained to him that the player whose jersey he was wearing actually did wear glasses when he pitched, and Sebastian found this heartening.

What I didn’t explain was that the particular player who wore number 75 was no longer on the team, nor did I relate the anger-management issues that had helped chase Francisco Rodriguez out of town…

Anyway, we hit the streets in search of sweets.

Well, everything was going fine until we reached the third or fourth house on our route. A blue-haired woman dropped a couple of pieces of candy in Sebastian’s Whole Foods trick-or-treat bag. He hissed at her disgustedly.

“What is this &%$#ing Mary Jane %$@* you’re trying to pass off on me? You know I don’t play that %$@*.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and hustled him away from the door. “What was that all about?” I asked.

“I don’t know what happened.” He looked genuinely confused.

We went to the next house and rang the bell. The guy who answered the door seemed pretty disinterested in the proceedings, and he reached into a bowl and dropped a single Dum Dum into Sebastian’s bag.

Sebastian looked up slowly, and spoke in measured tones.

“I will kill you. I will seriously &%$#ing kill you. A single Dum Dum? A single &%$#ing Dum Dum? And it’s dark out and all, but I swear that %$@* was mango flavored. You’re dead. Dead.”

I realized at that moment that the K-Rod jersey was possessed, and was turning my well-mannered and well-meaning boy into a monster. A monster, I tell you!

OK, not really.

But I did dress my son up as K-Rod for Halloween, which either proves that I’m an awful parent or a great judge of scary, scary costumes…